


October Spooky Writing Challenge: Derpy Dev Edition

by DerpyDev



Category: Original Work
Genre: 31 days, Dark Fantasy, Horror, writing challenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:02:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26765488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DerpyDev/pseuds/DerpyDev
Summary: https://thewritershandbook.tumblr.com/post/630699213481705472/this-years-october-spooky-writing-challenge-isI'm putting each prompt into my own dark fantasy world which I shall make up as I go along. Let's see if I can keep up with this!
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	1. Day 1: Tainted

"Father, what's wrong with the crops?"

William turned to his son with exhausted eyes, all the stress of all his years painted on his face. The boy was so young, too innocent to be seeing this all unfold before his eyes. What would happen to him as a result of this? Would his son ever get to have children of his own? Would he simply starve with countless others? Would Lord Heron steal him in place of the usual tax? Suddenly, William was unable too meet his own son's gaze. He turned his eyes back to the corn field.

The field had countless rows of sickly corn, each row stretching as far as the eye could observe. But it was not in its normal state. It had changed its appearance to the same greyed coloration that all the neighboring fields had taken. The crops were droopy and grey instead of tall and proud. Their ashen forms slouched over as if held down by a dreadful grip. And at the base of each one was the plague itself, the parasite that had jumped from field to field in this forsaken country. William crouched onto the ground and looked over the parasite feverishly, hoping that maybe, just maybe, his eyes had been mistaken.

But his eyes had seen true. This was bloodroot.

At the base of each and every plant was a massive tangle of red roots, each one covered in thorns and a sticky red dust. They choked the life out of William's field, sucking the nutrients out of the corn before releasing their seeds to the wind. In this manner, the parasitical plant had made a journey from the first ship a runaway seed had landed on to the massive corn fields of Mirrot Island.

A growl. A curse. William pounded his fist into the dry soil, the very soil that bloodroot had poisoned. This land, William's land... it was useless now. Clearing bloodroot took weeks of painful, expensive labor. Even at the best of times William wouldn't have been able to afford this. Lord Heron wouldn't just let his servants skip payments because of a plague.

A deep, heavy breath was let out. William had fought to protect his family and had failed. As he rose onto his two feet once again, he finally met his son's terrified eyes.

"They're tainted, son."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was fun to write and a good way to get started. I dunno about you guys, but I think it came out well enough.


	2. Day 2: Silent

"Lord Heron knows what you did," The Seamstress said.

The prisoner clutched at his new face in horror, his fingers grasping where his mouth had been. This wasn't the first time the Seamstress had seen this reaction, and it wouldn't be the last. She always wondered what it felt like to have those red needles pushed into the skin, to have binding fibers threaded through the lips. It was safe to assume this was painful, but just how painful was it? After all, she'd never been able to hear a victim scream.

The prisoner's reaction gave some insight at least. He looked truly horrified as the realizations came to him one at a time. They always noticed first how their mouth was simply gone, not just sewn shut. Binding fiber was a wonderful thing for a Seamstress to own. It could fuse anything with ease. Metal, wood, bone... and of course, skin and muscle.

The next realization came to him, you could see it in his eyes. 'My secret dies with me,' he realized. Which was true in some ways, yes. But now the Seamstress knew one more secret, one more unfathomable horror about the cursed island of Mirrot.

"Nobody betrays Lord Heron," she said calmly. The prisoner's eyes flicked towards her in horror, and all she gave him in return was a wolf-like smile.

"You had one job. Don't tell the villagers what we've found. And look what you've done, spreading conspiracy and confusion. Don't you want to keep their little lives simple? They don't need to know what sleeps below their feet."

He shook his head in defiance, a pathetic gesture at best. It wasn't uncommon for them to do such things. Some even tried to attack the Seamstress, like that would change the tides of their fate. She gave a sigh and put her needles back in her bag. The prisoner had been dealt with, so she could happily continue to pack her belongings. If she'd learned one things from the prisoners she'd worked on, it was that this whole island was damned. She did not want to wait on this island to see the inevitable happen.

"Well, I did my job and am quite done with you. I believe our Lord Heron will be satisfied to see that I kept you silent."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imma attempt to keep a string of continuity between these chapters. I hope you enjoyed!


	3. Day 3: Fog

All the mothers in Whistle Village told their children the same thing. Never go out in the morning fog.

Little Mary didn't understand this. She stared out into the fog through her little window, her youthful eyes filled with the kind of imagination and curiosity only a child could have. What was so bad about the fog? It always left Mary so curious, the way it danced across the grass and floated above the ground. Like a blanket of air had been thrown over the world. It didn't look scary. It looked comfy.

Of course, Mary had heard the stories from the other children, she'd heard what they had to say. Their stories were made up, the kind that were told to get a scare out of you. But Mary wasn't scared of their fanciful ideas. She wasn't scared of the monsters they said lived in the fog. She was a big girl now, she was old enough to know what a lie was. And their stories of disappearances and monsters were all lies. They saw the shadows in the fog and saw a monster, but Mary saw a trick of the light - or a welcoming hand.

"Marilane!"

The sound of Mother's shout was enough to make Mary jump in her seat and slam the window shut as if she'd never opened it at all. But Mother wasn't a fool, she knew what she'd seen. It was enough to make Mary wilt back in shame.

"What have I told you about the window?"

Mary gave a sigh. "Don't open it until the fog is cleared."

A stern nod. "That's right young lady. If I catch you staring at that fog again you'll find yourself with far more chores than just well fetching." With a growl, Mother stalked away with a scowl and mumbled under her breath.

"Maybe THAT will knock you out of this obsession."

Only after Mother left did Mary huff and peak out the window again. Mother didn't understand. None of the other village kids understood either. They all thought Mary was silly, that she was just a ridiculous girl who was obsessed with the scary fog. But as she stared into the morning mist, as she watched shadows dance around under its cover, a simple thought ran through her little head.

'I'll prove them wrong one day. I'll show them. There's nothing to fear about the fog.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Subtlety? What the fuck is subtlety?


	4. Day 4: Apparition

"I know you're real," Anna whispered.

The only answer that the halls of Heron Castle gave was the faint whistle of the wind. That was the only response the maid ever got, the world's way of telling her that she was just mad, that she was just seeing things. But she was done believing that. This time, she was telling this spirit what she thought.

"I know you're here. You think you're good at hiding, but I've seen you. I've seen you so many times."

More silence. Her voice had gotten louder, loud enough to bounce off the corners of the room. If the thing was with her again, it would hear. But where was it? It was always following, ever since it first laid its many eyes on her. Never quite leaving her alone.

Her fingers tightened around the handle of her broom, something only a child could think of as a weapon. Maybe that's what she was, for being the only fool to believe in this thing. Everyone had a story of the strange figure that lurked in the halls of Heron Castle, but Anna was the only one to insist that it was real. Even Lord Heron claimed that it was just a figment or apparition. But Anna knew better.

"I know you're real!" She shouted, her voice reaching every corner of the halls around her. "It's all lies! I've seen you! I've seen your wounds, your bloodied clothes, your EYES... I know you're real!"

She slammed her foot into the wooden floor, hard enough to send another echo into the world. Her voice carried through the halls, sending noise after noise into the castle. But they never found a single thing. It left her standing in the hall, her furious expression fading into one of confusion and grief.

"Am I right? Are you real? Or are you just an apparition?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly, I took some liberties.


	5. Day 5: Forgotten

Mola knew why Lord Heron's men had arrived before they ever opened the library's doors.

Mola was a simple cleaning lady, and one of the few natives left on Mirrot. She could remember a time without Lord Heron, without all these outlanders and corn fields and plagues. She remembered dancing in the sun with her friends, arriving home just before dusk hit them. She could remember a time when the sacred mountain wasn't cursed by fog or infested with humans. Even as Lord Heron strived to push that as the new normal, she remembered the old times. She wouldn't forget those memories of her childhood.

And just the same, she'd always remember when she hadn't been the strange one. All these outlanders would show up and gawk at the scales on the back of her palms and her grey skin. They'd gasp when they looked into her gemlike yellow eyes. Now that there were so few of her kind left, she was seen as some bizarrity, a spectacle to behold, rather than a proud native who displayed her dark grey scales with pride. Even at this vast library, where was stored all the written knowledge of her old faith and people, a library that HER PEOPLE had built, she was forced to work for the outlanders and wear their clothes.

So of course she knew why that bastard lord's men had arrived. She'd seen the signs, she'd known what was coming. The books here, the knowledge here, that was the last thing her people could claim they owned, the last thing they'd have to remember the old times. The enforcers were here to take that away too.

She smiled to herself as the men in armor walked into the back room, where all the religious texts of the Great Serpent were held. Lord Heron could do what he wanted to those. He could burn them, throw them into the sea, feed them to the hogs for all she cared. She'd already taken the biggest ones out and hidden them beneath the floorboards. Lord Heron could take many things from her people. He could take their pride, their children, their kings. But on this day, she'd kept him from taking their religion. The Great Serpent would never be forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of trouble finding out how to work with today's theme, hence the delay. I think it worked out tho!


	6. Day 6: Cauldron

"Don't open the lid," Christie warned as she pulled her daughter towards the cauldron.

Her daughter, her little girl, the light of her world... she looked so scared. Fear was in her child's eyes, the light of hope and joy washed out by the sight of the many eyed thing that had been on their porch. Even Christie's older mind was filled with disgust thinking about it. She dreaded to think of how its appearance would influence a child.

"Mommy..." the little girl cried. Isa was her name, a name given by her native father. In some ways, you could see the native blood in her. It was in the eyes. Her skin was greyer than average but not uncommon. She had far fewer scales than her father, and the ones she did have were under her long sleeved dress. But her eyes had the distinctly gem-like quality that the natives had, blue and shimmering when the sunlight hit them.

"You're going to have to be brave, all right?" Christie picked her little girl up. By the gods, she was only six. Too young. Far too young. Young and small enough so that the cauldron would easily be able to keep her safe. It was cold, it was unbreakable, and it was made to feed ten families. Isa would have room to dance in there if she pleased. Slowly, Christie lowered her shaking child into the cauldron.

Isa had tears in her eyes now, tears that came in bursts as she gasped for breath. Christie leaned in to put a kiss on her forehead. "Be brave Isa. Brave, and very quiet."

The cracking and creaking of wood could be heard. A feral moan came from the door, one that filled Christie's heart with dread. A second later, splintering could be heard. It was trying to get inside, and the soft lumber of the cabin wouldn't stop it.

"Mommy?"

She sucked in a breath and snapped her gaze back towards Isa. Little, perfect Isa. Maybe she'd be able to see her daughter again. Maybe she wouldn't. But there was no way to know.

"Wait for daddy. I love you."

With that said, Christie closed the lid of the cauldron, leaving it cracked just enough for her child to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> srry


	7. Day 7: Fangs

The Great Serpent was rather low on the list of Lord Heron's priorities.

Normally, when Lord Heron sat in his castle and did his work, he didn't concern himself too much with how his men dealt with the native problem. They did their job well, after all. When they found mention of the Serpent in books, the books were burned. When those foolish natives tried to stand in the way of progress, the knights either cast them aside or killed them. Nobody was allowed to teach the island's history, instead they were taught the history of the rest of the world, the civilized world, not the barbaric past of an island of savages. This was done automatically by the knights and enforcers of Lord Heron. All he had to do was put in a little check mark each time they gave him a request. More resources? Sure. Raze this site? Sure. Whatever needs to be done.

But this... Lord Heron had to see this personally. He'd wondered if that little letter had been an exaggeration at first. But this was the closest they were getting to the true image of the Serpent.

He stood in the stone temple, a torch held by one of his eleven knights as he looked at the scribbles on the walls. Carved in with hundreds of hours of painstaking work, and it was the closest thing these savages had to art. All their books talked about the Serpent with different features. They spoke of its many eyes, they spoke of its wings, they spoke of its forked tail. But none of them had mentioned its fangs.

The picture depicted the creature curled beneath the mountain, its wings wrapped around itself as it slept. All twelve of its eyes closed. But even as the art showed it sleeping, it still had its massive fangs hanging out of its mouth. If this picture was to scale, those fangs would be the size of buildings. But that was unlikely. These ridiculous savages couldn't be realistic about anything. It could never just be a monster, it had to be the size of a mountain. It could never just be an illness, it had to be a terrible plague. It could never be logical treatment, it had to be oppression and cruelty.

Naturally, he didn't believe they had any sense of scale. Nothing could be that large, and however real it was, that did not change the fact that it had been sleeping for as long as the world had existed. It could sleep a little longer. So with a huff, he turned away from the childish scribble. He'd seen enough.

"Destroy this place. But copy that picture first. I don't plan on forgetting those fangs."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lord Heron is a twat. But I still wanted to play with an unreliable narrator and do something other than vampires for the word 'Fangs' so here we are.


	8. Day 8: Eerie

So this was its den?

Arthur walked across the rocks cautiously, a pick in his hand and a knife on his belt. He'd traveled all the way into the less fertile parts of the island, near the edges of the rocky crags and right before the steep rise of the mountain's feet. But this part wasn't fully uninhabitable. Within a day you could reach a massive stretch of open field that was used by the corn farmers and the cow herders. Thus, a village had risen to exploit this land and put it to use.

But had those villagers seen what they'd sworn they'd seen? Were they just going mad, or had they really seen this many eyed thing?

He peaked down from his position, being careful not to lean too far off the edge of his unsteady position. The cave was right down there, a tiny crevice in the side of the mountain. He took a deep breath. He was an explorer, a man who documented all the new animals in the strange islands of Mirrot. He was not the kind of man to be scared off by a little climbing.

The work was a struggle, every fibrous muscle on his back aching by the end of the climb downwards into the crevice. The cavern's entrance was small and dark, dark enough for him to pull out his torch as he crawled inside. It opened up immediately into a spherical chamber with rough walls and mossy patches. The island was full of little pockets like this, from a time when its stone and soil had been much more malleable.

"Now what do you have in store for me?"

It was abandoned, that was certain. The smell of rotten meat filled the air and assaulted his nose, enough to make him gag and pull his shirt over his face. No animal would want to live in such conditions. It wasn't hard to see what the source of the smell was. Every couple of feet you could find another bone or half eaten carcass, mostly from small animals such as birds and rats. But there were stranger parts around the place as well. A dog's torso. A bull's skull. And in one corner, a human hand.

He gave a shudder. The villagers had warned that the monster attacked people, but he'd hoped that was simply paranoia. Whatever this thing was, it had no fear of man.

Turning his gaze from the floor, he surveyed the wall. And that was when his mouth dropped open in shock, a sense of dread filling his body and running up his spine. Every inch of it was covered in names and pieces of writing, all painstakingly carved into it. Countless names of countless people, all covering the walls. The work would have taken more than a couple hours. It would of taken days, weeks, months.

"What kind of creatures lived in such an eerie place?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know I used the prompt poorly. I was out of time. Fite me.


End file.
